sick as she led you to believe?”
“Who knows?” Garrett shrugged off his coat, hanging it on a rack beside the door. “He’s for sure bad off, but I wouldn’t put it past him to rally, then live fifty more years just to torture me.”
“Oh, dear…” Dina Solomon leaned forward from her seat on the couch. “What did he talk about?”
Garrett sighed, wishing for privacy instead of an audience consisting of not only his mom, but maternal grandparents, his mom’s sister Carol, brother-in-law Todd and their son, Zane. “I’m not sure I should say. Probably his big confession isn’t even true.”
“Now,” Dina said, “you have to tell us.” The group sat in the formal living room near the fire, being teased by the rich scent of Thanksgiving dinner still on hold in the kitchen. His mom usually went overboard when it came to decorating for holidays and this one was no exception. Life-size stuffed pilgrims stood smiling in a far corner, framed by dried cornstalks and, of course, a stuffed turkey.
“Bet the old man left Garrett a bundle,” his twenty-year-old cousin Zane said.
“Put a sock in it.” Garrett thumped the back of the kid’s head. “Well, I can’t believe it, but Eve and I might still share a connection.”
Ashen, his mother—the only person present who’d known what he’d been through—frowned. “What’s that mean? I thought this was the first time you’ve seen her since she left for—” she stopped herself from blurting where Eve had really gone “—finishing school?”
“It was.”
“I went to an Easter egg hunt on the mansion grounds when I was a little girl.” Grandma Fern sipped from her ever-present martini. The woman was already a touch senile. Why was his mom adding liquor to her already addled mind? “The gardens were like something from a fairy tale. Are they still as fancy?”
“I don’t know, Grandma. It was dark and raining.”
Dina adjusted the throw pillow nestled near the small of her mother’s back. “I’m sure they’re just as gorgeous as you remember.” To Garrett, she said, “Go on, hon. What did Hal say?”
Tired of keeping everything secret, Garrett told them the whole story—including Hal summoning him to the mansion to inform him his son had been stillborn. Eve moved from the unwed mothers’ home to an East Coast college prep school, then on to college. He hadn’t spoken to her since she’d left town carrying his son. “Tonight, Hal coughed so hard he could hardly speak, but what he did manage to get out…” Garrett shook his head. “Hal said my son’s alive.”
Garrett’s mom clutched the gold cross she always wore on a thin chain around her neck. “I have a grandson. Where is he? I want to see him now.”
“Slow down.” Garrett helped himself to someone’s abandoned glass of white wine. “I’m having a hard time believing this is even true. If it is, our son may be out there, but Hal didn’t say where. I’m going back in the morning. Hopefully, he’ll tell us more. But my gut feeling is that it’s a lie.”
“Hal wouldn’t lie on his deathbed. You’ll find your son,” Garrett’s grandpa Ira assured him.
“Where’s Eve now?” his mother asked.
“I assume with Hal. Best as I could, I tried comforting her, but she pushed me away.”
“As much as we all want you here,” his grandmother said, “you should go to her. I remember when her mother died like it was yesterday. Marianne Barnesworth was a lady through and through. Each public appearance, she and Eve were always matching, only Eve had that blond hair of hers fastened up in a big bow. When Marianne died in that car crash, the whole town nearly shut down. And the funeral—saddest thing ever. Eve looked so small and alone. Those horrible photos of her standing graveside were published in most every paper in the state. Such a fragile little girl.”
“Yeah—” Garrett shook his head “—well, now she’s all grown-up and more than ever, wants nothing to do with me.”
* * *
AT 1:57 FRIDAY MORNING, Eve’s father died.
She refused the sedative the doctor had left and dismissed the nurse. What she needed was privacy—not coddling.
Hugging a bottle of merlot, grateful the staff and her father’s longtime housekeeper, Juanita, were off with family for the holidays, she returned to her father’s room. The coroner had taken her father’s body a while ago and the nurse had changed the bed linens and removed all signs of this having been a makeshift hospital room. Even the sick scents had been sanitized away. Now all that remained of her once strong father was the faint trace of his spicy cologne.
Seated in a wing chair before the dancing fire, Eve poured the wine, but left her glass on the side table, too exhausted to lift it to her mouth.
Eyes closed, she struggled to wrap her mind around his words. Your son isn’t dead. I lied. For best.
“Daddy,” she whispered, “how could you?”
With her father’s cancer, her divorce from Matthew only a year behind her, two miscarriages before that, she was afraid to hope she might truly have a son. For so long her mind had been focused on grief, she was afraid to even hope for light.
Lately, aside from work, it seemed her life had been nothing but a succession of grief-filled episodes. It’d been so long since she’d truly been happy, she feared permanently losing her smile.
But with this news…
She fumbled for her wineglass, taking a fortifying sip.
She’d loved Garrett more than she’d thought it possible to love. The only time she’d ever fought her father was when he’d sent her away. How different would her life be had she stayed? Faced the ridicule of her classmates and no doubt the whole town? How hard could it have been compared to losing Garrett? Their son?
My father. His admission compounded the pain of her most recent loss. Not only was he physically gone from her life, but she wasn’t sure he was the man she’d forever admired. Forget the fact he was her dad—the one person she’d always believed unconditionally had her back. Where was his soul? Who told his own daughter her child died, then justified it by saying it was for the best? When was a lost child ever best?
Eve pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead and struggled to make sense out of a night that’d been sheer chaos.
Abandoning her wine, Eve sought her room—not the nondescript luxury guest room she’d slept in since leaving Matthew the year before, but the space she’d occupied in what felt like another life.
As dusty and disorganized as the place felt in her mind, it came as a shock to find it in pristine condition—as if none of the memorabilia, pictures and uniforms had actually been used, but were merely props for a catalog diorama.
Eve fingered her cheerleading skirt, recalling the thrill of working the crowd at her first varsity game. Of Garrett kissing her after that game. He’d scored his first varsity-team touchdown and she’d rewarded him with what started out to be seven kisses, but ended as so much more. Her gaze skipped to history and chemistry texts that’d never been returned. To snapshots of her friends making faces in the
